


A Haunting History of Honey

by 88thParallel (CanadaHolm)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Bit Not Good, Bees, Crack, Ghosts, Honey, Sherlock Holmes and Bees, Sherlock Making Tea, guinea pig john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:27:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26878942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanadaHolm/pseuds/88thParallel
Summary: John has a sore throat. Sherlock makes tea.John really should know better by now.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 26
Kudos: 127





	A Haunting History of Honey

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Запоминающаяся история о меде (A Haunting History of Honey)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26949964) by [Lesli_rus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lesli_rus/pseuds/Lesli_rus)



> This fic came out of nowhere and is due to a weird late night conversation with thornypeach3 and elldotsee. Hopefully someone else will get a kick out of it like we did.
> 
> Links to the specific inspiration at the end of the fic.

“Ohh, new honey?” John asks, clearing his sore throat and picking up the small glass jar on the worktop. Warm, dark amber liquid lazily flows back and forth as he tilts it in his hand. “I was going to pick some up at Tesco. The one we have looked like it might’ve gone off.”

“That’s preposterous,” Sherlock replied without turning. He picks up the steaming kettle and fills John’s RAMC mug. “Honey never spoils.”

“Well, everything spoils eventually,” John counters, noticing Sherlock is not making himself any tea. 

“No. Never,” Sherlock insists, taking the glass jar from John’s hands. He dips in a pale wooden honey dipper, then holds it patiently suspended over John’s cup. The honey pours off of it in a beautiful, hypnotic rivulet. With an expert flick of his wrist, he lifts the stick while catching the dangling drop, and replaces it in the jar. Then he stirs the tea with a flourish and hands it to John, who hums and takes a sip.

“God, that’s good!” John blows on the hot liquid and takes another sip, humming in appreciation. It's warm and soothing on his raw throat, and the flavor is complex and absolutely delicious. “Where’d you buy this?” 

“Special distributor,” Sherlock answers with a wave of his hand. “Should be good for your throat.” 

John finds a smile tugging at his lips. He hadn’t felt well for a few days now, but this was the first Sherlock had actively taken part in John’s convalescence. It felt nice to be cared for. He swallows another wonderful sip of the warm, sweet liquid. “Honey really never goes bad? I’m surprised I didn’t know that.”

“Mmm, so am I,” Sherlock agrees with too much condescension in his voice, for John’s liking. The smile drops from his face, but Sherlock doesn’t notice.

“In ancient Arabia, honey was considered incredibly valuable and potent in its healing abilities, and since it never expires, people were sometimes mummified in it.”

John nearly chokes on his tea. “What? You can’t be serious.”

“Indeed I am. Mellified man, they called it. A human mummy confection that was revered for it’s supposed healing properties. Of course, there was quite a bit of preparation before anyone could consume any, it would start with an elderly volunteer who spent his dying days consuming nothing but honey until even his fecal matter was nearly pure honey. He would even bathe in it, and then after death, they would bury him in a tomb filled with it. After about a century or so… voila! Mellified man.”

John can’t help horror from sweeping his features. He grimaces in revulsion. 

Sherlock doesn't miss a beat. “The healing properties were said to be miraculous, rejoining broken bones, restoring sight to the blind. Even curing sore throats,” Sherlock says, eyes flicking to John and away suspiciously.

But tea doesn’t seem as appealing now, with the knowledge he’s suddenly gained, and John moves to put down the cup.

“You really should keep drinking that while it’s hot,” Sherlock says quickly, eyes darting to the (suddenly very ancient and artifact-y looking) jar. “The healing properties of any warm honey on a sore throat due to its natural antibacterial properties and ability to act as an anti-inflammatory are remarkable, not to mention the fact that the high viscosity acts as a barrier to prevent infection and protect the wound. The immunomodulatory properties — ”

But John isn’t listening. A cold sense of horror pours over him and he feels his stomach twist. He holds up a hand to stop Sherlock, who stutters to a halt. Then he takes a deep breath and asks a question he never thought he'd have to ask. “Sherlock… did you just feed me… people? Are there... PEOPLE in this honey?”

Sherlock’s opens his mouth to speak but closes it again looking caught out instead of offended.

John’s jaw drops and his eyes go wide. “So help me GOD, Sherlock... if you’ve put angry ghosts in my earl grey AGAIN — ” He puts the teacup down with a clatter and storms toward the sitting room.

Sherlock huffs and chases after. “In my defense, the last time the result was too chaotic and I didn’t get to record the findings in a scientific controlled--“

“Too  _ chaotic?! _ I was battling for my  _ own soul  _ inside  _ my own bloody body!” _

“Yes, but that was only  _ after _ the priest showed up… you don’t even remember much from before that. And now Mycroft has him on retainer so we wouldn’t need to wait nearly as long for the exorcism!”

“Your brother. Has a priest. On retainer. So you can make me more  _ ghost tea?!” _

“No, of course not! The tea doesn’t possess any supernatural forces, John, it’s the honey that —”

_"Haunted_ honey!" John exclaims.

"Yes, but it's _healing_ haunted honey!" Sherlock counters back just as loudly.

John clenches his fist and sniffs in barely controlled rage. “Wonderful. Just… bloody fantastic. I’ll be making my own tea from now on, thank you. And actually, you know what, I’ll be taking it black from now on, too.” He stares at Sherlock a moment longer in disbelief, waiting for an apology, and turns to leave the flat when none comes. 

Sherlock grabs John’s shoulder as he reaches the stairs. “No, wait! John, wait!” 

John’s nostrils flare but he stops, turning to glare at Sherlock over his shoulder. 

Sherlock swallows. “In all seriousness… this honey is not filled with haunted spirits or mummified ancient Arabs. In fact, I harvested it myself. From my own bees,” he says, trying and failing to suppress a small prideful smile.

John scowls at him, disbelieving. “You harvested honey from your own bees?”

“I’ve got a small apiary on a former client’s land right outside of the city limits.”

John isn’t convinced. “That sounds too… normal. Are they... I dunno... ghost bees or something?”

“No. I assure you, they’re 100% corporeal and full of vitality.”

John stares at him, eyes narrowed. “And?”

“And? And nothing. Just normal bees, doing normal bee things, and making lovely restorative healing honey.” 

Something's still not right. John refuses to back down, and after a few more uncomfortable moments of staring straight at him, Sherlock cracks. He inhales and affects an air of afterthought. “I mean, the hives  _ were _ found surrounding a coffin in an above-ground mausoleum, so it is possible however unlikely that they may have absorbed some of the deceased’s —”

John’s jaw drops in disbelief before he shakes his head vehemently. His mouth opens and closes a few times in outrage, but when no words come, he spins and heads down the stairs. “I’M GOING OUT.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes at the small, furious man’s back. “Your throat _does_ feel better though, doesn’t it?” Sherlock calls after him. 

John stops on the landing, but refuses to turn around. His shoulders fall as he huffs out an angry breath. “That’s… irrelevant,” he growls quietly, still seething, then after another moment, stomps off.

“You’re  _ WELCOME!” _ Sherlock calls breezily from the first storey as the door to 221 slams. 

Ah well, nothing for it. John might be in a strop, but it’s a  _ healing _ strop. At least this time, Sherlock has positive results worth recording.

And almost a full jar left, too...

“Mrs Hudson!” Sherlock calls down the stairwell. “How’s your hip today?”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> For more on haunted mausoleum honey... yes it's a thing... [click here](https://imgur.com/a/LeCPAmx)
> 
> For more on Mellified Man... yes it's also a thing... [check this out](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mellified_man)


End file.
